


When She Jousts

by dogworldchampion



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: I just love them, come on how can you not love raoul and kel's relationship, kel/dom if you squint hard enough, they're all such idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogworldchampion/pseuds/dogworldchampion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her jousts create more emotion than these weathered stands have seen in quite a while</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raoul

**Author's Note:**

> I really just couldn't quite get this idea out of my head, so why not post it? First fanfic, so comments are appreciated! Aaaaaand I own none of this.

When she jousts, Raoul feels nothing but pride. He knows her so well that he believes he can hear her whispering, “Charge,” to her beloved monster of a mount over the hundreds of well-wishers and opponents who grace the stands. He knows before she does when she will knock an opponent from their saddle, and he’s on his feet at the moment of impact to cheer. 

He knew she would be this good from their first tilt. When he felt the steadiness and strength behind her lance, he knew she could be great if he could manage to train her to it. 

When she rode against Groten, his heart was in his throat. He knew, rationally, that she would be fine. Groten was weak in the saddle, and Kel was already a better hand with a lance than most knights. And yet, when the herald gave the signal to ride, he found he couldn’t breathe for nerves – people died in jousts. He took that risk joyfully, but seeing Kel take it for the first time filled him with terror. When she knocked Groten from the saddle, pride in his young squire whom he loved so dearly left him hoarse from cheering. 

Years later, he sat with his son at his first tournament. Pathom was nearly six, and he couldn’t stop bouncing with excitement. His black curls, so neatly arranged by his mother that morning before they all departed, were in disarray. Earlier, they had watched Buri take the prize among the archers, proving she had not lost her touch since she left the Riders. Now, they waited. Except for the five year-old clinging to one arm and bellowing questions at full speed and the grey that had begun to grace the sides of his head, Raoul could swear that he was still her knight-master. Gary sat to his left, prepared to collect fifteen gold nobles when he won. Alanna was on his right, arguing passionately with Nealan of Queenscove about something inconsequential – he wasn’t sure what. Dom, on Neal’s other side, was staring silently at the still-empty tilting field, worry for Kel evident in every line of his face. 

As the two opponents trotted into their lanes, the crowds roared, and Raoul grinned softly. They were all waiting in suspense, but he already knew. He could see it in the way her boots pushed against her stirrups, in the way her lance sat comfortably in her hand, and in the steel in her eyes before she pulled down her visor. As always, he could swear he heard her whisper, “Charge,” – this time, to Peachblossom's successor, a beast of a horse she had named Sparrow. And they rode. Twice, he heard lances shatter. Alanna was explaining to Pathom why this fight was so significant to his father, to Aunt Kel, and to the rest of the kingdom. Neal and Dom were shouting encouragement and instruction, barely audible over the din of the stands. And yet, as they charged for the third time, the noise fell away. In the same silence he was sure she was experiencing on the field, he saw her lance hit. He jumped to his feet, and he saw Alanna looking his way – she was missing it! – as Kel surged and Wyldon fell from his saddle. 

Raoul was sure he was cheering, but he didn’t remember starting to yell. He can feel the grin threatening to split apart his face as he lifts his son onto his shoulders to better see over the now-standing crowds. Alanna is scolding him for making her miss her favorite knight knocking her least favorite into the mud, and Neal and Dom are high-fiving and shouting unintelligible celebrations. Gary is staring at him blankly, unable to believe he lost. But Raoul is nearly oblivious to all of it – he’s busy watching Kel as she walks over to help Wyldon up. He’s almost surprised (but not quite) when the older man wraps her in a quick hug before shaking her hand. And he’s hardly surprised at all when her next stop is to the front row and her loudest cheering section, where she walks right to him with gleaming eyes. 

As he wraps her in the biggest hug he’s ever given, he feels as though he might explode with pride. Then, he remembers – he’s going to have to talk to Jon about that statue…


	2. Alanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's part two, written because I don't want to write a theology essay! Hopefully it's passable - leave kudos or a comment if you think so! As always, none of it is mine (unfortunately).

When she jousts, Alanna is frequently forced to roll her eyes. Her best friends are busy waxing poetic about the grace that is Kel shoving a glorified stick at a man’s shield, and her former squire is so sick with worry that it’s almost laughable. Alanna has always found jousting insufferably boring – she can’t even stand watching Raoul. And yet, she watches Kel. 

Alanna was terrified the first time Kel jousted. She sat near the back of the stands, so that she wouldn’t make the girl nervous. Every time Kel saw Alanna, she panicked, and Alanna couldn’t afford that – not today. It would be normal for any second-year squire to lose their first joust, but Alanna knew Kel couldn’t afford to lose in her first public display of her skills. When she knocked Groten from the saddle, Alanna breathed a sigh of relief for the future of lady knights. Then, she smiled – she could see on Kel’s face the same joy she felt when she disarmed a challenger with her sword. 

After that one, Alanna makes a point of watching Kel joust whenever she can. She still hates the sport on principle, but she can’t deny her own joy in seeing the next lady knight smack conservatives into the mud – it’s wonderfully vindictive. When Kel rides, Alanna sees more than just a quiet, steady sixteen year-old; she sees every girl who will come after, every girl who has her hopes for the future pinned on this one surviving her Ordeal and proving to everyone that girls can. 

Years later, Alanna found herself at another blasted joust, and she was almost happy about it. Raoul had brought his son, and Alanna couldn’t believe how much Pathom had grown since the last time she saw him – the carbon copy of Raoul had to be the largest five year-old she’d ever seen, and his energy and exuberance were rival only to Aly’s. Neal sat with her, giving her the opportunity to feel young(er) again as she argued with her former squire as though he was still a nineteen year-old, rather than a married father of two. She makes a point of ignoring the other jousts, entertaining Pathom while his father analyzes technique with Gary. Even after all these years, she can’t figure out what her friends think is so special about whacking each other with literal sticks. 

Then, Kel trots onto the field, and Alanna looks up. She sees the steel in every line of Kel’s body, and she wonders if maybe this time is the time it happens. She can see the two girl pages, seated across the field with their comrades and ha Minch, her hope mirrored on their fresh faces. 

As Kel signals her monster of a horse to charge, Alanna finds herself truly interested in a joust for the first time, perhaps ever. For a few fleeting seconds, she sees the beauty and grace that Raoul and Kel and even Wyldon so love about the sport. Then, Pathom shouts in her ear, breaking the spell. She absently answers his question as she watches four shattered lances. Then, on the third pass, just as Kel is about to hit her opponent’s shield, motion to her right catches her eye. She turns, confused, to look at Raoul, who is jumping to his feet on his bench. Then, when the stands cheer and she turns around, she understands. 

Wyldon is on the ground, and for a second, Alanna notes the mud in his armor and smiles. That won’t be fun to clean.

Then, it hits her. 

Wyldon is on the ground, for the first time anyone can remember. 

And she missed it. 

She turns again to yell at Raoul, but after a few seconds, she realizes it’s futile – he’s bellowing far too loud to hear her scolding. She gives up, deciding to save her explosion for later, and lets herself get swept up in the collective euphoria of the moment. Then, Kel is walking over and hugging Raoul. She catches a simultaneous sigh of relief from the pair, and as he lets go, Raoul tousles her hair and whispers something that makes her groan and roll her eyes. 

Then, she’s looking at Alanna and smiling. Alanna smiles back and nods at the younger knight. Then, she shoves her wreck of a squire forward. He’s been shouting in her ear for far too long. Alanna and Kel understand each other quite well, these days, and Alanna’s certain they can discuss the match in more detail over dinner later. Maybe jousting isn’t as bad as Alanna thought, after all.


	3. Wyldon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's Wyldon! I tried really hard to capture his voice, but I'm not sure I got it quite right! Please leave feedback!! As always, none of it's mine.

Wyldon tries not to dwell on the past too much. He has found that the best warriors make mistakes, learn from them, and move on. Living in the past only hinders his ability to be the best warrior he can in that moment. And yet, as he saddles his horse, he can’t help reflecting on the beginning of this particular journey nearly twenty years before.

Keladry of Mindelan has been the catalyst for some of his worst decisions as a commander, as well as some of his best. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that he made the right call, following his gut instinct instead of his friends and his head, and allowed her to stay. Although, knowing her, he thought with a grim smile, she wouldn’t have left, even if he told her to. 

Wyldon knows that Goldenlake likes to brag about Mindelan’s innate skill with the lance. He likes to think that he trained her to greatness, but that the innate skill was just waiting to be molded. Wyldon can’t deny that the girl has skill, but he knows better. 

Wyldon was there from the first time she picked up a lance. He watched her fail, over and over. He watched her stoic refusal to cry or give up when her brute of a horse tried to buck her or the quintain hit her hard enough to bruise. She took the beating over and over until she started to hit the target. 

A strange feeling began to tickle his mind when he watched her succeed. He felt it when she revealed that she had been training with a weighted lance (he should have known then about Joren, he thinks with a sigh of regret). Later, he felt it as he watched her best Groten and Tirrsmont and countless others. He felt it when her lance, steady and strong, slammed into his shield hard enough to make his arm numb. It wasn’t until he was waiting for her to cross the Vassa, deciding once and for all what to do about her, that he identified it, though. When she jousts, Wyldon is proud. 

Goldenlake certainly had a hand in it, but he was working with the foundation Wyldon laid, and of that, he could be proud. 

Wyldon mounted up, quashing a small smile. He would beat her today – he always did, but she would be better than she was the last time – she always was. At the signal, he trots out onto the tilting field. Her new warhorse is just as big as Peachblossom, and Wyldon’s sure that he will pack just as much speed and power. She wears padding, like him, which gives him an advantage, thanks to his greater height and weight. She’ll be a challenge, certainly, but she isn’t ready. Not yet. 

The monitor signals, and they ride. Twice, his lance shatters. Twice, he feels his shield arm grow numb. As he lines up for his final pass, he realizes she’s changed something in her stance. It’s giving her more power than she used to have. For half a second, he stops strategizing for the next hit. He watches her ride, trying to figure out what she’s doing differently. He’s ready for the hit, but those brief moments of distraction were enough. 

Wyldon had forgotten what it feels like to fly. 

Before he knows it, he’s smacking down onto the dirt. His breath leaves him for a moment, and as he struggles to breathe, he tries to decide whether he’s happy or angry that he’s lying on the ground for the first time in three and a half decades. 

As she walks over to help him up, he makes his decision. She reaches out a hand, and he grabs it. As he stands, he impulsively draws her into a hug. He feels her stiffen for a moment in surprise before hugging him back. 

They break apart quickly, and she smiles at him. “Go calm your cheering section, Mindelan. I can hear Queenscove from here and I’ve heard enough from him to last a lifetime.”

She smiles at that. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

As she turns to walk away, he adds, “Congratulations, Lady Knight.”

He doesn’t like to lose – he hates it, in fact. But it’s good for a man to get shaken up every now and then, and he’s found that Keladry of Mindelan is quite adept at that.


End file.
